


Eyes Dyed Red

by orphan_account



Category: Child's Play/Chucky (Movies)
Genre: Andy becomes Chucky's sidekick, Artificial Intelligence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Murder, Possessive Behavior, Violence, reupload
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 08:49:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20043238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Andy gets a new birthday present. It's not the best thing in the world, but it's his, and that's all that matters.Even when said gift starts to act a bit...weird.Or: We try this fic again because I deleted it on accident.





	1. Fine

Andy drags his bag behind him, pavement scratching against cloth, his head hung down and his gaze fixated on his shoes, a storm brewing inside his eyes. Today hasn’t been kind to him; between the kids whispering behind his back and others shoving him into lockers, it’s no surprise that his mood tanked long before lunch. No punches, thankfully—barely a scratch left on him, as a matter of fact. Just a few slurs and insults, a few harsh words exchanged to really make him hurt. Hours later and he finds himself still rubbing tears from his eyes, doing his best to stifle his sniffling.

Not like it matters any. He’ll get over it like he always does, he’s sure.

People barely give him a glance as they brush passed him, jostling and shoving him about as he walks. _Rude_, he thinks, but he can’t help but let it slide. They’re either too busy talking on their phones or looking at shopping windows or whatever else adults are into to bother with him, anyway.

“Hey, watch it!”

Andy startles when someone shoves him out of the way, the young boy tripping over his feet and falling face-first into the ground. Mud water hits him in the face, and he spits and sputters, trying to get the foul liquid off his tongue. He wipes at his face, glowering at the older woman’s back as she walks away from him, “Asshole.”

Still, no use in crying over it. With a sigh, the boy climbs back onto his feet, dusting himself off and recollecting his backpack, throwing it over his shoulder and stepping around the bend.

It’s not a far walk from the bus stop to his apartment complex. Just a stroll down the street, give or take a little, and he’d be able to reach either without issue, ready to go about his business. But today, staring up at the brick building in front of him with its metal balconies and barely-hanging-on emergency exit ladders, stepping inside is more than a little intimidating. Overwhelming, in fact. Distasteful.

So, pulling his hood over his eyes, he turns around, mind set on the convenience store out back to hang out in and kill time—

“Hey, Andy!”

A sense of dread washes over him. _Shit_. His mother—home early from work, considering she runs up to him with a big, bulky box in her arms when she’s supposed to be working for a couple more hours still—smiles from ear to ear when he meets her gaze, exhaustion and irritation softened by his presence. Her coat makes her look smaller than she really is, and her hair falls out of a messy bun, but other than that, she’s looks just like she usually does.

So, tired and sick of bullshit.

He turns to meet her, his hands shoved in his pockets and bangs hanging in his face. His eyes immediately look to the box in her arms. “Hey. You’re home early—do some Christmas shopping?”

“Oh, ha, ha,” Karen smacks him lightly on the shoulder with a chuckle, readjusting her hold on the box in her hands. “It’s too early for Christmas. Besides, you know me—I’m terrible at early prep.”

“’S’okay, Mom. I understand.” He nods toward the box, saying, “Still, though. What gives?”

The woman furrows her eyebrows together. “It’s a gift.”

“For who?” he tries to think of something clever. Fails. “Your boyfriend?”

“Not that far in the relationship. And please, at least try to pretend that you tolerate him; your nose gets all pink when you’re angry.”

Andy lifts a hand to his face, covering up his nose and frowning. “Who’s it for, then?” he asks.

Her face falls. Looking between the gift and her son, Karen sighs, rocking back on her heels. She waves a hand in the air, all but mumbling her words, “It’s for you, silly. Your birthday’s in a couple weeks, remember? It’s an early present.”

The boy’s eyes light up. Oh, right. He’d forgotten, too wrapped up in his head to keep track of the days going by or the date on the calendar.

How stupid of him to forget his own birthday.

He scratches the back of his neck, looking down at his shoes. Allows his bag to slip from his shoulder. “…Oh. I…wasn’t expecting one this early.”

“Well, yeah. That’s why it’s a surprise gift. Though, the cat’s out of the bag now, heh.” Karen gestures dramatically to the door off to their side, lowering her voice. “If you do the dishes later, I’ll let you open it as soon as we get inside.”

His eyes dart to glare at the apartment building.

Brick walls. Judgmental windows. Strangers looking at him and dissecting him with their eyes, tearing him apart piece by piece.

He smiles up at her, “Deal.”

His mother smiles back, ruffling his hair. With a huff, she climbs the few short steps to the entrance, fumbling with the door handle.

“I got it, Mom—”

“No, no, no, birthday boy. I’ve got it—you just wait.”

_Click!_—the door slides open, and Karen grins, stepping aside and holding it open with her foot. “After you.”

Andy rolls his eyes. He gives her a dramatic bow, “Thank you, ma’am, how very kind of you,” and steps inside, leading the way.

He doesn’t know why, but his skin crawls on the elevator ride up, a bad feeling snaking its way into his stomach.

_Whatever_, he tells himself. It’s whatever._ It’s fine—there’s nothing to be worried about. People aren’t watching. Nobody’s here to judge you. Nobody’s here to bother you. Just you and your mom. It’s fine. _

His eyes draw to the brown-paper-covered box, hands clenching in his pockets.

_Everything is fine. It’s just a gift. _

_Just a gift…_

Inside the hidden Buddi box, a doll’s eyes light up red.


	2. Chucky

It doesn’t take long for them to reach the apartment. Nor does it take the small family long to sit down in the living room, box seated between them, Andy’s mother smiling at him expectantly and the boy shaking despite himself—either from excitement or nerves, he’s not sure.

“Ready?” his mother asks.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Hell yeah.”

She pauses. Giving him a stern look, she says, “Language.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

Carefully, they both tear at the brown paper, pulling it away to reveal—

Andy isn’t sure what he expected. A new game station, maybe; he knows he’s sure gotten bored of the ones he currently has. Some new clothes would be nice, considering how much he’s grown out of his old ones. Hell, he’d have taken a fifty-dollar bill and a joke card over _this_.

Andy stares at the blue-eyed doll in silence, eyes darting between it and his mother. “…What. Is _that_,” he murmurs, jabbing a finger in the doll’s direction.

His mother deflates. Not the reaction she expected, he notes. “It’s one of those Buddi dolls,” his mother tells him. She pulls away the rest of the wrapping paper, giving the box a tap. “Look, see? It can connect to any Kaslan product, can help you with tasks, be someone you can talk to—it’s like…like a friend and a new toy all in one. Do you really not like it?”

The boy chews on his lip. Part of him says no, he really does not like this thing—it’s ugly and it’s bulky and he’s too old for toys, anyway. But part of him knows better than to tell his mom, who tries so hard and does so much for him, that he’d rather throw out his new gift than take it out of the box.

“It’s…okay,” he tells her at last with a sigh, giving her a sheepish smile. He glances back to the doll, taking in its striped shirt, overalls, red hair and odd smile. For a second, he thinks he sees its eyes flash red, but the change happens so quickly and is gone so soon that he chalks it up to a figment of his imagination. “…Wanna help me get it out of the box?”

His mother’s smile returns. She nods, saying, “Sure, if you want.”

“Of course.”

_Pop!_

His mother breaks the box’s seal and holds open the flap, waving for the boy to come forward. Slowly, afraid of dropping the damn thing and breaking it on the spot, Andy pulls the doll out from its confinements, seating it in front of him.

It’s not so bad, he decides, now that it’s out of the box. Sure, it still looks ugly as all hell, and it still has a strange gleam of red over its eyes, but it looks friendly enough.

_Let’s just hope it works_, he tells himself.

“Well?” his mother asks with a laugh. “What’re you waiting for, kid? Turn it on!”

“…How do I do that?” Andy looks over the box curiously, wondering if the instructions are on it. _I don’t see anything helpful…_

“You gotta connect it to your phone. Through the Kaslan app—you’ve used it before.”

Oh. Right.

Stuffing his hand in his pocket, eyes meeting the cold, unmoving ones of his new Buddi, Andy pulls out his phone, turning it on. He pulls open the app and sighs, saying, “Well, here goes nothing.”

_Click!_

The doll’s eyes flash blue. Then red. Then black.

Then the eyes flash blue again, and it moves, mouth moving as it speaks.

“H-h-hi! M-My—my name is Ch-Ch-Chuck-Chucky! Who might y-you—you be?”

Andy flinches back at the glitching, friendly voice, immediately looking over to his mother, eyebrows furrowed. He hesitates, swallowing down his fear—why is he even afraid of this thing in the first place? It’s just a doll. “Andy,” he tells it. “Hi, Chucky. Nice to meet you.”

“Andy-hi-Chucky-nice-to-meet-you! Got it!”

“Wh—No, that’s not—It’s just Andy.”

The doll ignores him. “Are you my new buddy, Andy-hi-Chucky-nice-to-meet-you?”

“It’s just Andy,” Andy sighs. “And, yeah, I guess.” _This is ridiculous. Why am I doing this? What’s even the point of this? It seems so broken…_

The doll pauses. Then, red pinpricks light up in its eyes, Andy squinting as a red light scans his face. _Ow, bright—_

“Imprinting complete! Hello, Andy-hi-Chucky-nice-to-meet-you, I-I’m—I’m Chu—Chucky! You’re best pal! We’re going to have l-lots of fun!”

_Beep_!—its eyes flash once more, and then it falls silent, eyes turning black once more.

Andy and Karen look at each other, Andy fidgeting on the floor and his mother moving towards the couch, squinting at the doll. Neither of them speak, waiting for the doll to say more.

It doesn’t.

“I think it’s broken,” Andy mutters.

Karen just groans. Leaning back and slapping a hand against her forehead, she drags her nails through her hair, shaking her head. “I should’ve known this thing would be a piece of junk,” she murmurs, exhaustion hanging on every word. Andy notices the bags under her eyes and the hair sticking out from her messy bun, made worse from her constant pulling and tugging. “Great job, Karen. Get your son a gift and it turns out to be garbage. What a waste of time...”

“N-No, Mom, it’s okay, I—” _Fix this, fix this, fix it, Andy, fix this_, “—I like it!”

His mother deadpans. “…You like it.”

A quick nod of his head. He forces a smile, trying to make it look real as he picks up the doll, cradling it to his chest. “Yeah! It’s—it’s really cool! I don’t mind if it’s a little wonky—I think it fits right in.”

That earns a small smile. “You think our family’s a little wonky, huh?” she asks him.

“A little wonk’s not too bad, if you ask me.”

She laughs. Karen leans forward, searching his gaze for any hint of lies, any hesitation. Then, she reaches forward and pokes his nose, doing the same to his doll. “Well, broken or not, I’m glad you like it, dork. Sorry I couldn’t get you anything else, but…you know how it is.”

“I don’t need anything else,” he informs her, a slight twinge of regret striking his heart. Looking down at Chucky, he says, “this is fine. I’m a big kid—birthdays are kinda overrated, anyway.”

“Well, if you say so.” Yawning, Karen stretches out, rubbing at her eyes. “I think I’m gonna turn in early. Say, why don’t you show your new friend your room? Get to know ’im and all.”

Andy bites back a scoff. She talks about him like he’s an actual person. “Sure thing.” He pauses, looking her up and down, “I, uh…never did ask you how work went today.”

“Oh, you know. It was work. The usual bullsh…” She trails off, head lulling forward and eyes closed. It doesn’t take long for her to start snoring, her arms crossed over her chest and legs underneath the coffee table, dead to the world.

Andy hums, looking down at his new “best friend.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Alright, Chucky,” he says, the doll’s eyes lighting up as its name is spoken. “Let’s show you the rest of the house.”


	3. Talk to Me

“…And _this_,” Andy says with a dramatic wave of his hand, flipping on his light switch, “is my room.”

Chucky steps into the dimly lit bedroom and looks around, clinging to the other’s finger. It’s not much to marvel at, Andy knows; what with it being a complete pigsty, with garbage and dirty laundry piled up in the corner and at the foot of his bed, waiting for something to be done about them. Many of his belongings lying forgotten and ignored on the floor, having been there for who knows how long, and the boy knows full well that that is where they will remain, having no energy now to do anything about his mess. Old posters hang on the wall, broken devices resting on the bookshelves and rotting textbooks waiting to be read, having not been touched in years; but, this is home, or what should be after all that’s happened. The curtains on his windows remain shut, making the only source of light his desk lamp.

The only relatively clean part of the room is his desk, organized solely to leave room for his sketchbook and whatever homework he has. Not that he plans to do any of it, but the thought that he may one day attempt his work is one he latches on to nonetheless, hoping his motivations will one day return.

“Sorry it looks like shit,” Andy informs the doll. He throws his bag aside, explaining, “I haven’t had time to clean.”

The doll’s inner workings whir to life, its voice coming out crystal clear compared to all the other times its spoken, “Looks like shit.”

Andy flinches. He whips around to face the other, looking the doll up and down and taking in its frizzy-red hair and pale blue, innocently sparkling eyes. “Whoa. You’re…allowed to say that?” he asks.

Of course, he gets no answer, the doll wandering further into the room. He watches at it looks around, Chucky pointing a finger up at one of the posters hanging on the wall and saying, “Star Wars?”

Andy follows his gaze. “Yeah. It’s like, one of my favorite move series. Why? Do you know it?”

“I recognize the title in my database. It’s quite popular.” The doll looks to him, an awkward, odd-looking smile in place. “Would you like similar recommendations?”

“N-No, that’s fine, thanks.” The boy sighs, making his way over to the robot. Glancing between the doll and the poster, he pauses, running his fingers through his hair and saying, “I could show you the movies sometime if you want, though. You might like them.” _Do dolls even like things? Can it enjoy a movie?_ The boy blinks, shaking his confusion away. _Too many questions_.

Whatever the case, Chucky tilts his head in agreement, muttering a quiet, “I would be open for that,” before falling silent, examining the room once more.

Andy watches it for a moment before rolling his eyes, plopping down at his desk and scrubbing at his face with his knuckles. _Stupid_, he tells himself, _this is so, so stupid. I don’t even know why I’m bothering with this thing. It’s just a dumb toy. _

_A very, very creepy toy at that. _

“What’cha doing?”

“_Ah_—”

Andy jumps when a voice speaks up next to him, gasping as he turns to face Chucky, who stands at his side, holding an old pizza box in his hands. The boy pauses, looking the doll up and down, before he snatches the box from the other’s hands, saying, “What’re you doing with that? It’s garbage.”

“But your textbook—”

Andy forces a breath through his nose. He points at the box, saying, “Chucky, this is a pizza box. An empty pizza box. It’s _trash_. Not a textbook, okay?”

The doll’s eyes flicker red, “Not a textbook. Got it.”

_Well, at least that’s settled._ Setting the box aside, Andy shuffles a few things around on his desk, sighing. Remembering what the doll asked, he says, “I’m…thinking.”

“About what? Can I help?”

“No, Chucky, you can’t. At least, I don’t think so.” The boy pauses, fumbling with his hands. “…I just…I had a really bad day at school today, alright?”

Chucky’s eyes flicker once more, the doll stepping closer, “What happened?”

A hand shoving him into a locker. Spit in his face, yelling in his ears, ringing drowning out cold remarks and insults. A hallway full of smiling, laughing faces, fingers pointing in his direction and kids his age whispering to and fro, word traveling fast throughout the crowd.

_Couldn’t keep friends at his old school._

_Daddy left him for dead._

_Heard his mom’s a whore. _

_Can’t speak up to save his life. _

_Dumber than a bag of rocks._

_Talks to older men, I heard. Asking for trouble, if you ask me._

_Asking for it._

_Asking for it._

_Asking for it._

Andy shakes the memory away, steadying his breath. Don’t let it get to you, he reminds himself. Words can’t hurt you. “…Assholes is what happened,” he answers finally. “It doesn’t matter. They don’t matter. They’re just—they’re just lookin’ to pick fights, that’s all.”

Chucky watches as the boy reaches into a drawer, the doll’s eyes flickering blue, grey, blue, grey. Inside, its inner code runs wild; a primal urge it can’t identify rising up in its chest at the boy’s words, not understanding yet angry that the boy has to suffer in such a way, and the doll having no clue as to how to help. But, a stronger urge—one to comfort, to help—comes up to the surface, and the doll tugs on the boy’s sleeve, saying, “Well, I would never hurt you, Andy. You’re my friend.”

Andy freezes. He looks at the doll, blinking, mind struggling to make sense of the words. A doll? His _friend_? Jeez, he must really be a fucking loser.

Still, the words warm him to the core, and he can’t fight back the smile that spreads across his face as he says, “Thanks, Chucky. That means a lot, really.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

Andy glances into the drawer, eyes fixated on his notebook. He looks around, eyes finding the door to his room. _I could just switch him off for the night and take a nap like Mom is…_

_…But…_

“Well…I guess I could show you my drawings. They’re not great, but they help sometimes. How’s that sound?”

The doll smiles. “I would love to see what you’ve drawn, Andy.”

The boy feels himself smile back, however awkward the sensation is. He moves over to the side, patting the chair’s seat for the doll to join him, pulling the notebook into view and flipping it open as the doll sits beside him, looking over his shoulder.

And that is how they remain for the rest of the night, Andy pointing out parts of his drawings he likes and rattling off names of his favorite video game characters as Chucky absorbs the information, all the while curious as to why that hot-red feeling from earlier won’t dissipate.

_It doesn’t matter_, the doll decides after a while, smiling when he hears Andy laugh at a joke he doesn’t understand. _So long as Andy is having fun, it doesn’t matter._

He just has to make sure that things stay that way.

**Author's Note:**

> so i was getting harassed and deleted a bunch of stories, including this one.  
but i like this story, so im gonna continue writing it anyway.
> 
> that's it, really. hope you enjoy!


End file.
